


Jerry Lewis' Incredibly Protracted Seduction of Dean Martin

by Sherlaufeyson



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Martin and Lewis, US Comedians RPF
Genre: 5 Times, Backstage, Dancing, Drinking, Hotel Sex, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Slow Burn, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-01-22 20:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21308333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlaufeyson/pseuds/Sherlaufeyson
Summary: Six years.1945 - 1951.The five times Dean Martin refused Jerry Lewis, and the one time he didn't.(Previously titled 5+1 Times)
Relationships: Dean Martin/Jerry Lewis
Comments: 57
Kudos: 54
Collections: My Martin and Lewis





	1. Nightclub, 1945

**Author's Note:**

> 🙏Big thanks to hopesave6666 for beta-reading 🙏

Jerry and Dean are sitting side by side in a booth at the back of the latest seedy nightclub. Usually it’s one or the other, but this is a rare night when they’re both on the billing.

Dean takes a good look around the interior, and it only confirms the doubts he had as he had walked into the establishment, seeing the broken neon sign outside and the disturbing stain in front of the door.

Jerry is absentmindedly picking at the flaking varnish on the top of the table. As Dean wriggles to get comfortable, he can feel the lumps in the stuffing of the seating and hear a scratchy tearing sound as the imitation leather cracks and peels with the movement.

The paintwork is patchy, and there are defined, dark regions on the walls from where various artworks have been removed. The bar that looks like it hasn’t been refurbished this century is serving a handful of drunk clientele who look like they’ve been fixtures here for just as long.

There are a couple of performers sitting opposite them, also on tonight’s billing. They had been introduced, but Dean’s already forgotten their names. By the end of the night, he’ll have forgotten their faces too. 

Everyone in this place is nameless. You’d never expect anyone playing here to become famous. Dean feels like it’s a bad omen for his career even to be playing here, but a paycheck is a paycheck.

He watches as one of the men to whom he’d been introduced leans forward to talk to Jerry. Overly familiar, he reaches out to touch Jerry’s tie, complimenting it. He feels the kid seize up and draw closer to him. The man seems to take the hint and settles back in his seat, but Jerry stays close to Dean.

They still have several hours of cabaret to kill before either of them will get to perform.

Sometime between the woman playing the accordion and the pantomime comedian, Dean feels Jerry’s hand on his knee. 

His first thought is that maybe Jerry is nervous. He gets nervous around new people. Dean remembers how jittery he seemed the first time they met. The couple opposite aren’t helping by trying to drag him into their conversation and describe his act. 

He feels Jerry’s hand slide purposefully up his thigh.

Dean swallows around the lump in his throat. He has to admit he’s very fond of the kid. Handsome, intelligent, funny… and very young. He can’t do this. Not yet. Not here in any case.

He places his hand over Jerry’s to still its motion.

After a moment, Jerry returns it to the table, refusing to look at Dean. He knows he made the moral decision, but Dean spends the rest of the night wondering if he made the right one.


	2. 500 Club, Atlantic City, July 25th 1946

Ever since he’d gotten the call inviting him to perform in Atlantic City, all Dean could think about was that he’d be getting to see Jerry again.

Now, standing in what served as their ‘green room’ - the dingy alley outside the back door of the club, that excitement and anticipation had been extinguished like a flame by a bucket of water. Their first show had been a complete washout. 

No sooner had they left the stage to thunderous silence than the promoter accosted them, flanked by two barrel-chested bouncers. A weedy creep with a thin moustache and a raspy voice, he had stood in the doorway and bellowed his ultimatum that they would never work again unless they could come up with something better.

The jerk hadn’t even the decency to give them a minute’s reprieve to wipe off the stage make up. Standing in the alley, furnished as it was with a single thread-bare folding chair, and lit only from what managed to filter through the smoke and frosted windows of the club, Dean felt that this was an all-time low.

Dean’s fledgling hopes were being crushed. He turned his head to look at Jerry and the word ‘crushed’ didn’t even begin to describe what he saw. Jerry’s shoulders were squared in the face of the awful man’s threats, but his face was crumpling before Dean’s eyes.

Dean batted the promoter away with a wave of his hand, promising that they’d change it up for the next show and that everything would be fine.

Deep down, he was coming to terms with the fact that this was most likely the end of their partnership. Over before it even had a chance to begin. It was a damned shame. He knew they had good chemistry, but somehow it hadn’t been able to sustain their separate acts. 

Dean lit up a cigarette for something to do with his hands and offered one to Jerry, who took it in silence, returning his broken smile. 

On stage, the kid had been hilarious. Dean had an inkling that it was his own crooner set that the establishment really had a problem with. What was it the promoter had told Jerry, ‘we don’t need another singer’? Singing was all he was good for, what else was he supposed to do up there?

He’d felt it on the train ride. His gut was rarely wrong, and it had told him this was the right move. Follow Jerry to Atlantic City. He’d told Betty as much. This was his shot, guaranteed pay-check, the chance to make something of himself.

Dean sat gingerly on the chair for fear of breaking it. Jerry had turned to face the wall and Dean knew the last thing the kid wanted was to be seen crying. 

Dean dropped his head in his hands as he tried to wrap his mind around what had gone wrong. He didn’t like to admit it, even to himself, but he was really relying on that pay-check. He had mouths to feed back home. How the hell were they going to salvage something from the night so they could at least get paid? 

He heard Jerry’s footsteps sounding closer towards him and opened his arms, inviting the kid to sit on his lap. Fuck the management. If the chair broke, so be it. 

Jerry straddled him, sitting back on Dean’s knees. Dean sensed that he was purposely creating space between them and could feel the uncertainty coming off Jerry in waves. Dean was grateful for the caution, even though he wanted nothing more than to reach his arms out around Jerry and comfort him. 

Dean hadn’t had a woman in a while, and he hadn’t seen Jerry in a while longer. He’d almost forgotten what it had been like, back when they used to run into each other in all sorts of places - Jerry batting his eyelashes, insisting on sitting on Dean’s lap, making all sorts of comments. Dean had never been entirely sure if he was just kidding around, but now was not the time to test that theory out. Not with both of their careers on the line.

Feeling Jerry’s fingers starting to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, Dean closed his eyes. It felt nice, like how his Mama used to comfort him. He took several grounding breaths.

The hand stilled and he opened his eyes. Jerry was looking at him. Some moisture had collected in the corners of his eyes, and Dean instinctively moved his hands up to cradle Jerry’s face, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. 

“Hey now, don’t cry.” He said soothingly.

“M’not.” Jerry mumbled.

Dean wrapped his arms tightly around Jerry, pulling him closer for a proper hug. His hands reached all the way around to his armpits and he could feel how skinny the kid was. Regardless of what happened tonight, he was taking the kid out for a decent meal. Pastrami sandwiches weren’t going to cut it.

Dean felt something wet on his cheek and for a frightening few seconds thought that Jerry was crying again. A moment later, he felt Jerry’s chest shuddering beneath his arms in a way which told him that laughter was the more likely culprit. He felt the wet pressure again and realised Jerry was licking his face. He jerked his head out of the way and back to see Jerry’s eyes lit up with mischief and delight.

“What are ya doing there, pally?’ Dean was confused more than anything else. How do you react to someone licking your face?

“I’ve had an idea, Dean!” Jerry was clearly excited, practically bouncing on Dean’s lap.

“You have?” Dean was trying to keep a straight face. Jerry’s moods could swing on a dime and he wasn’t willing to join him for this particular rollercoaster.

“Will you do something with me?” Jerry chewed his lip anxiously.

Dean was mildly concerned about what that might entail, but at this point, how could he say no to the kid?

“Sure, buddy.”

“Oh, Dean!” Jerry exclaimed, wrapping his arms around Dean and pressing their mouths firmly together in a kiss.

Dean froze. 

Sure, he’d thought about this. Jerry had gotten him hot under the collar more than once before, but this was different from those times. He’d been fond of Jerry for over a year now, the kid’s behavior constantly surprising and delighting him. 

Many times they’d go for completely innocuous walks in the park in the early hours of the morning, and Jerry would leap on him, full of youthful exuberance. The kid had absolutely no sense of personal space or safety. 

Sometimes Dean worried about him – about what might happen to him on an occasion when he wasn’t there to smack manners into the punks that started harassing him. Sometimes Jerry looked none-too-pleased that Dean had diverted their attention, which worried him all the more. 

The desperate and lonely kid was so starved for affection that he almost seemed to illicit it from all the wrong people. Dean wanted to be able to provide all that affection, but it was overwhelming, and he could never be sure how deep that well ran.

Dean felt Jerry’s tongue swipe across his lips. Unconsciously, he parted his own. A few precious, glorious seconds involved his mouth falling open slightly and Jerry’s tongue delving inside and _oh_ how he wanted. 

Dean’s tongue met Jerry’s and he knew he had to stop this before his body took over. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He could feel the erratic pulse in his fingertips. He could feel the exquisite tension as his cock started to harden, pressing up against the swell of Jerry’s generous ass. It was too much, and not enough.

Jerry felt so good in his arms. Their bodies fit together in perfect harmony; their lips slid together in perfect synchronicity. Dean had known that Jerry’s lips would feel amazing to kiss. The same way he knew his ass would feel amazing to touch. Dean could feel his control slipping. He couldn’t help reaching a hand around, just to touch Jerry. 

The minute his hand skittered lightly over the seat of Jerry’s dress pants, Dean felt the reverberations of Jerry’s first moan against his lips. He was torn from his reverie and it took all of his self control to break the kiss. He raised his hands to Jerry’s shoulders and very gently pressed them backwards.

He felt Jerry recoil as their lips were forced apart. The look of fear in Jerry’s eyes almost made Dean regret his decision. He held tightly to Jerry’s waist, and filled his gaze with all the true longing, love and adoration he felt. He couldn’t let Jerry think for one second that he wasn’t wanted, nor could he let him think for an instant that it was okay for him to be taken advantage of in this state.

It took all of Dean’s will power to speak his next words. “Jerry. This isn’t a good idea.” 

Dean’s lower brain was screaming at him that he couldn’t be more wrong – that this was the best idea that had ever been conceived. There had never been a better idea than Jerry’s lips against his own. Jerry’s body covering his own. Jerry’s anything in any sort of proximity to his own.

Jerry’s eyes were darting around the graffiti covered bricks behind his head, unable to focus on a single point, and certainly unwilling to focus on him.

Dean reached a hand up to cup the side of Jerry’s face.

“Pal,” his tone was soft. It was the tone he used when talking to Betty or the kids. It was the one he reserved for people he _could_ be vulnerable around.

Jerry looked at him. His expression was terrified, and Dean wanted nothing more than to kiss away those scared thoughts, and ignore all his internal warnings.

Jerry sniffed and wiped the back of his sleeve across his nose.

Dean reached into his breast pocket for a handkerchief and dabbed at the corners of Jerry’s eyes. He then wiped Jerry’s nose and returned the soiled handkerchief to his pocket.

“But Dean, that’s your best one!”

“I can get another… when we’re selling out shows all over the Eastern seaboard.”

Jerry’s eyes lit up again. The hopeful optimism in his expression made Dean fall that little bit more in love.

“You mean it?”

Dean grinned up at him, the tension in his jaw relaxing as he saw the chances of Jerry darting down the alley and running out of his life forever recede.

“I do, pally. We’re partners.”

Jerry’s eyes were shining at him with unshed tears of joy.

“And kid?”

Jerry nodded earnestly, encouraging him to continue.

“You don’t need to do any of this.” Dean motioned a finger back and forth between their mouths. “I’m here no matter what. We’ve got a job to do, and we don’t need any of that to be partners.” 

Jerry’s face was expressing dual emotions of disappointment and relief. Dean had suspected, but now knew for sure that the boy wore his heart entirely on his sleeve. Dean’s speech had been as much for Jerry’s benefit as his own. They were here together, and that was what mattered. He’d been dying to see the kid again, but they’d never last if they turned all this electric potential into a summer fling. Their careers were on the line. 

The response from the audience had been lukewarm at best. Dean couldn’t bear the thought of letting the kid down, whether it was hiding how badly he felt the show had gone, or taking advantage of him when he was in such a vulnerable state. Dean didn’t need anything from Jerry that Jerry wasn’t already giving him. Dean didn’t want anything from Jerry that Jerry wasn’t wanting to give him. 

“So, what was your idea, Jer?”

Dean saw the first real smile of the evening crack Jerry’s face. The open love and affection displayed made Dean want to grab and kiss him all over again.

Jerry proceeded to outline their plans for the second show on a left-over piece of sandwich wrapper. Dean watched as the mask of concentration and blanket of professionalism enveloped Jerry. He was in safe hands with this kid who already knew more about the business than he could ever hope to learn.

Dean knew at that moment he was working with a dedicated professional, who would be giving everything he had to his craft for the rest of his days.

Dean could only hope that he would live up to the image the kid had of him.

He only hoped he could keep up with the kid.


	3. Nightclub, 1947

Another city, another nightclub, another crowded booth. Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis were back in New York City, fulfilling their latest engagement. Things were looking up, they were getting recognised in the street, and to Dean, that made everything that little bit more precarious. The streets of New York had always seemed dangerous to him. Jerry navigated them with street smarts that belied his innocent and childlike persona. Dean was worried for him every time he set foot outside their hotel room.

The establishment was fairly decent. Filled with young talent just waiting to be spotted. More importantly, filled with the people charged with finding that talent. This place was nothing like the dives they used to work at. Dean could tell they were moving up in the world. It was only a matter of time. He and Jerry had made a pact together over a year ago and were still going from strength to strength. At this stage, Dean couldn’t imagine performing with anybody else.

Dean had held out a little hope upon entering the club that they might be able to get a booth by themselves, but unfortunately hadn’t been able to swing it with the doorman. He had not been looking forward to an evening of stifling yawns and acting like he wasn’t being bored out of his wits by vacuous performers engaging in vapid conversation.

Thankfully, as soon as they had sat down at the booth, Jerry had sidled up to him, plastering himself along Dean’s side. It had been nice, affectionate, and a welcome warm presence, sheltering Dean from the winter chill let in every time the door opened. Dean had wrapped his right arm around Jerry’s shoulders and Jerry had leaned in to face him, kissing him softly on the cheek.

Dean had felt his cheeks burn with an embarrassed pleasure. Jerry’s open affection was new to him, and it sometimes scared him how much he liked it. How much he craved it. 

Jerry’s demonstrations of love were escalating as well. Dean could never be sure if on any given night he was to be the designated seat for Jerry. The boy would just demand to be given pride of place sitting on his lap, and there was nothing Dean wouldn’t do for him.

Dean heard a few of their company laughing politely at Jerry’s absurd behavior. He watched closely as Jerry turned back to face the table, gesturing with all the appropriately disarming fey signals while not actually moving his body any further away from Dean’s.

Dean squeezed his shoulder with a comforting hand and felt all the tension in Jerry’s body disappear as he relaxed against him.

It wasn’t long before Dean felt the usual hand on his leg. Since the first nightclub in which they’d sat together at a booth, every time they found themselves back in one, Jerry would rest a hand on his leg. It almost seemed like a comfort blanket, completely innocuous. Jerry would put it there virtually the moment they sat down, and only remove it when he needed to leave the table.

This stillness in Jerry was rare. Whenever he was next to Dean, hand on his leg, his actions were measured. He was attentive to conversation, and reserved in his mannerisms. The moment they would leave the booth, it would be as though that period of calm had never happened. As soon as they were out, Jerry would be back jumping around and acting crazy. He was only ever still when he was sat next to Dean, leaning into his arm, hand on his thigh. 

After the first time, Dean never removed his hand. It had eaten him up for days afterwards, that maybe he’d upset the kid. That Jerry had just wanted a little human contact, and he’d rejected him. It just didn’t seem worth it to Dean to move it away ever again. He liked Jerry’s hand there, it wasn’t doing anyone any harm, and clearly Jerry was comfortable with it.

This night was different. For starters, the hand wasn’t just still on his leg. Dean could feel Jerry’s fingers massaging circles on his inner thigh. Furthermore, Jerry’s hand was usually fairly close to his knee. Tonight, it was halfway up his thigh, with the edge of his palm dangerously close to his crotch.

Dean inhaled deeply, willing his self-control to prevail. His hips were dying to push forward, just a little, just to feel Jerry’s hand once. Hell, if there hadn’t been people sitting next to them in the booth, he might have given in, but Dean was made of sterner stuff. He held his position seated upright against the back of the booth.

Dean’s pulse quickened and his breath became labored, but he didn’t move Jerry’s hand. After a few minutes, or it could have been seconds or hours for all that Dean completely lost track of time, Jerry moved his own hand away. He stayed close to Dean’s side, and Dean never moved the arm wrapped around his shoulders. 

They ordered their second round of drinks and then suddenly Jerry’s hand was back. Even further up his leg than before, now he was squeezing Dean’s thigh rhythmically. With each squeeze, Jerry moved his hand closer and closer to Dean’s crotch. Dean let out a groan of frustration which he immediately attempted to cover with a cough as he was shot several worried looks from around the table.

Dean heard Jerry chuckle into his malted, which was the only warning he got before he felt Jerry’s hand move up to cover the bulge in his trousers. It took all his acting and self-control not to react, but he couldn’t help his breath stuttering as Jerry started squeezing again, gentle pulses where he was most sensitive. 

Dean could feel the heat from Jerry’s hand through his trousers. It was unbearable. He was so desperate for Jerry to reach in and fetch it out, and just as desperate for Jerry not to do anything of the sort. He could feel pinpricks of perspiration on his brow and knew his forehead would be shiny. He was sweating now, and more than could be accounted for by his suit and the room.

All Dean could think of was Jerry’s hand on his cock. His long fingers tracing its outline, making it firm up with every gentle touch. He didn’t think he’d ever been in this sort of hopelessly aroused situation before. Anytime this happened with a broad, they’d been in private. His fate was right there in Jerry’s left hand and the excitement he was feeling at that lack of control was something he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to examine closely. 

Dean had given up feigning interest in the other people at the table a long time ago, favoring an in-depth study of the pattern of the tablecloth. He gave the impression of a man several whiskies further along than he was, disguising how drunk he was on Jerry.

Dean took a deep breath and dared to sneak a glance at him. Immediately, he realised his mistake. Jerry was looking directly at him, eyes crinkled at the corners in devious joy. His mouth was open and as Dean watched helplessly, he slowly ran his tongue over his bottom lip, sweeping sideways and darting out at the corner. Dean’s cock twitched in his trousers and there was no way Jerry didn’t feel that, his eyebrow quirking upwards as his tongue retracted into his mouth.

Dean knew he was being toyed with, but there was nothing he could do about that here. They were in a public place. They had company. If Jerry had pulled this sort of thing in their hotel room (and by god how he wished Jerry would pull this sort of thing in their hotel room), he would have had no trouble tangling his hand in Jerry’s ridiculous pomade-reinforced quiff and directing his head down to make good on the promises just made by his mouth. 

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t thought about it. Jerry Lewis had a tendency to draw attention to his mouth, and Dean often found himself distracted, fantasizing about all the things he could do with it. What better uses it could be put to. How that extraordinarily versatile tongue could best serve him.

As it was, he had no recourse and was on the verge of having to write off yet another pair of perfectly serviceable trousers.

He felt, more than heard Jerry as he leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“Dean,” Jerry moaned.

Dean didn’t answer – couldn’t answer. His left fist was balled up tight and pressed into his thigh, in a futile attempt to ground himself. He knew his face was red and he was biting his top lip, but he hoped his apparent drunkenness would cover for him. He didn’t trust his ability to keep his voice steady.

“Come on, Dean.” Jerry’s breath ghosted over Dean’s ear and neck. 

Dean swore he could feel every single hair Jerry’s breath displaced. Goosebumps broke out over his neck and he felt pinpricks in his lower back. His hips jerked forwards uncontrollably. 

Dean felt Jerry’s teeth close around his earlobe. Jerry exhaled directly into his ear and an irrepressible shiver cascaded down his spine.

“Let go.” Jerry’s voice was quiet, low and dark. There was no chance that anyone else had heard those words but Dean felt his face heat up even more.

Jerry’s fingers curled around his length, and he started moving his fist up and down slowly, rubbing along his cock. 

“Fuck, Dean. You feel so good.” Jerry’s voice was cracking. Dean hadn’t realised until he looked down, but the kid was so turned on he had his own hand pressed against his crotch. Dean swallowed against the hungry growl that threatened to escape.

“I want you, Dean.” Jerry’s broken plea threatened to undo Dean.

Jesus Christ! How was he supposed to deal with this? Thus far, he had done nothing. He hadn’t said anything to Jerry; hadn’t touched him in any way other than the genial arm around his shoulder which he hadn’t moved since the kid first sat down next to him.

This was his last chance to extricate himself.

Dean wanted to let go. He wanted to obey Jerry’s wishes. It seemed like his wishes and Jerry’s were perfectly in alignment, as ever.

He wanted to come so badly. Come with Jerry’s hand wrapped around his cock. Pulse into it, feel it massaging him through his trousers.

Jerry would still be leaning up against him as he came down from the afterglow.

Jerry would look after him; would make an excuse of a stomach bug or suchlike, bundling him out of the club and back to the hotel.

This could be their chance.

Unfortunately, the irrepressible, rational part of Dean’s brain knew that they’d already aroused too much suspicion. Since he’d raised his eyes from the tablecloth, he’d seen enough sidelong glances sent his way to know that it was a bad idea.

He could be seeing his name in the papers tomorrow and the inside of a jail cell the following day.

His name might not even make the papers - just a footnote about an arrest at a popular night spot in New York City. 

It was far too risky.

Dean steeled his resolve and with an overwhelming sense of sacrifice, moved his left hand to cover Jerry’s under the table, taking it and moving it back to his knee.

Even that brush of movement against his length and the tingling points of contact as their hands touched made him shudder slightly.

Dean was still watching Jerry carefully and saw the initial panic and sadness cross the young man’s face. 

He smiled sheepishly back at him and in an instant, Jerry’s face broke out in an exaggerated grin. Jerry started vamping and fawning over Dean, letting him know without a shadow of a doubt that they were going to be alright.

Dean stayed painfully hard for the rest of the evening. Every time he thought he was starting to quash it, Jerry would wink at him, lick his lips, or just brush the outside of Dean’s thigh with his leg. Dean’s mind would then be flooded with devastating images and phantom sensations capable of removing all capacity for higher brain function.

It was a relief at the end of the night to have a cold shower and fall into bed. Dean laid down exhausted next to Jerry, who – as usual, acted as though nothing had happened.

Dean was sure the boy would be the death of him.


	4. Paramount Party, 1949

Ostentatious ballroom; elaborate furnishings; grandiose chandeliers - the kind of opulence that Dean always figured was a staple in the royal homes of Western Europe. Not what he’d expect to find at a large country estate, just a few hours drive from Los Angeles. He and Jerry had been invited to a real Hollywood party, hosted by Paramount at the residence of one of their top studio executives.

Dean had been dancing with a tall, stunning brunette for a few minutes when his partner performed his common party trick of cutting in and taking Dean for a whirl around the floor. Dean wouldn’t usually mind, but Jerry had been in a funny mood of late, and he’d been quite enjoying the reprieve, being able to dance with a competent, pretty broad.

Dean sighed, “I wish you’d give me some warning.”

“Whaddya mean, ‘warning’? I’m always looking for a chance to cut in.” Jerry said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and considering everything Dean knew to be true about the young man, it probably was.

Dean didn’t respond. He just let his mind wander. 

They were on an expansive dance floor, filled with at least two dozen other couples. The crème de la crème of Paramount Studios. It was a party, ostensibly in their honor. They’d all but signed the multi-million dollar multi-picture contract with the studio. Their manager had told them that the party was to sweeten the deal and make sure they sign, but Dean wasn’t stupid. This was a test. One last in-person assessment of Martin and Lewis before millions of dollars were signed over. Their careers hung on this night. All they had to do was see it through to the end, and their futures were secure. No small matter for the boy from Steubenville.

Dean wasn’t sure Jerry really understood quite what was at stake. His cavalier attitude at times made Dean question his decisions.

Like the one to cut in on a studio executive’s daughter’s dance with one of the prospective signings.

Dean only hoped that those watching had taken it in the comedic vein in which Jerry would claim it had been intended.

“Did you miss me, darling?” Jerry had pitched his voice high and loud. Loud enough to turn a few heads and ensure everybody had a chance to see him fawning over Dean. Dean watched on as Jerry reached out a hand to smooth his tie down, flattening it against his chest. 

To the untrained eye, it may have looked like his intent had been to get a laugh out of Dean, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper there. Dean knew better.

He felt Jerry press against him, and as his brain tuned in, he heard what Jerry was whispering in his ear.

“Fuck, Dean,” Jerry whispered brokenly. “I couldn’t help cutting in.” Jerry’s breath skated past the hairs on Dean’s neck and he shivered. 

Dean said nothing, but took over the lead for a moment to manoeuvre them to an area less densely populated.

“You look so good, Paul.”

“Thanks, Jerry.” Dean moved his head back to smile. “You don’t scrub up too badly, yourself.”

Jerry flashed him one of his bashful smiles and Dean couldn’t help chuckling at him.

“You mean that?”

“Yeah, I mean it.”

“I’m not kidding though, Dean. You really do look so good. I think there’s only one place your clothes would look better.”

“Oh yeah, where’s that?”

“On my bedroom floor.” 

If it had been just the two of them, Dean would have laughed at the corny pickup line and probably thrown a pillow or cushion at Jerry. As it was, he was too worried about potential eavesdroppers that his head turned around quicker than if someone had announced an impromptu round of night-golf.

“Jerry.” Dean admonished.

“It’s true.” Jerry seemed utterly unfazed. He just kept waltzing Dean around the room. Dean noticed that the path Jerry made avoided all the wallflowers and any chaperones who might have been inclined to cut in on their behalf. Instead, he appeared to be exclusively swanning around the top executives and movie producers.

“You’re this real-life Adonis. Your body looks like it’s been carved out of marble by some Italian sculptor.” Dean could feel the tips of his ears burning with the praise. He didn’t know what to say to it, so he just tried to keep a straight face and follow Jerry’s lead around the dance floor.

Jerry continued, “You know, I sometimes wonder if you’re real in the mornings, when you get up for your shower. I never see you going to the gym, but you’re so fit. I’m sure I could bounce a quarter off your ass.”

“_Jerry!_” Dean hissed at him. Sure, no-one was paying them too much attention at the moment, despite the fact that they were two men dancing together when the room was filled with dozens of available girls. Dean was all too aware of how quickly that state of affairs could change the instant one of them heard a fraction of the sorts of things Jerry was saying.

Jerry pulled Dean closer, whispering softer into his ear. “You know what I mean, Dean.”

Jerry pushed his hips forward into Dean and Dean could feel the hard outline of Jerry’s cock against his thigh. He suppressed a groan as Jerry rolled his hips, pressing into Dean’s own rapidly hardening cock.

“Jerry,” Dean’s voice wavered. “You can’t do this here.” 

“Oh, but I can Dean.” While they were dancing cheek to cheek and unable to see each other’s faces, Dean could hear the devious smile in Jerry’s voice.

“Jer.” Dean was losing his internal battle for rational thought.

“Dean, these trousers are incredible. They hide a multitude of sins, all of which I’m thinking of committing right now, with you.”

Dean was shocked, but also intrigued. He hadn’t heard such a clear and evocative expression of want and intent from Jerry in a long while.

“I could come just like this, rubbing up against you. Would you like that?” Dean wanted to shake his head, but he found himself gently nodding, his cheek grazing up and down next to Jerry’s.

“Fuck, Dean.” Dean felt Jerry’s cock twitch against his thigh and for a fleeting, exhilarating, terrifying moment he thought that Jerry had actually just come.

“What about your cock in my mouth? I could take out your cock and you could fill my mouth with it. You could take your time, slowly pushing in and pulling out. I’d make it tight for you. I would keep my teeth out of the way, unless you wanted a little of that.” Dean’s hips jerked forward into Jerry’s and he felt Jerry’s victorious smile against his cheek.

“Yeah, you’d want a little of that. How about forcing yourself down my throat. I want you to do that so badly. I want to be on my knees for you, and feel you as deep as you can go. God Dean, I just want you to fuck me in every way imaginable.”

Dean’s hands grasped firmly at Jerry’s hips, pulling him closer. He heard the broken noise as Jerry cried out in pleasure at being manhandled in such a way.

Dean’s hands jumped back quickly as if they’d been burnt. He turned his head, panicked, eyes darting around the room, scanning the faces of everyone he could see who might be placing them under any sort of scrutiny. He heard a laugh filtering through the crowd and it was like he’d been doused with a bucket of iced water. He started to pull back from Jerry, preoccupied with finding the source of the laughter.

Jerry’s voice was his ear straight away, calming him, “It’s okay Dean. I’m here, I want you.”

Again, Dean couldn’t think of a response.

“Do you want me?” There was something about Jerry’s questions. They weren’t needy, but they did always seem to demand some sort of validation. 

Dean took a deep breath. “God, yes Jerry. I want you.” Dean whispered, still looking around the ballroom for anyone paying what seemed like too much attention to them.

“You want to fuck me? I’m so ready Dean. If I’d known, I could have prepared myself before the party.”

Dean closed his eyes tight against the mental images forming in his brain. The thought of Jerry lying down with lube, stretching himself on his own slender fingers; his delicate wrist angling to reach the deepest part of him was something for which Dean’s mind was unprepared.

“If only I had lube. We could sneak off into one of the bedrooms upstairs.” Jerry continued.

Dean wasn’t hearing this. How could Jerry be so brazen?

“You’d have to find some way to keep me quiet, but I’d be so responsive.”

Dean’s hand tightened at Jerry’s waist, squeezing.

“That’s right, Dean.” Jerry’s breath was hot in his ear. “I would be so wet and tight for you. I want you inside me. I wish you could fuck me. Right here. Tonight.”

Dean finally found his voice. He spoke in a hushed whisper, “Do you have any idea what you’re saying? What you’re risking right now?” 

For the first time that evening, Dean felt Jerry’s body pause against him. “What I’m… risking?” Dean saw Jerry’s expression shift from wanton to confused to shocked to terrified.

”Oh god Dean, if this is too much for the partnership, just say. We can slow down. I don’t need - ” Dean reached a comforting hand to stroke the back of Jerry’s head.

Realising suddenly where they were and what was at stake, he promptly returned it to Jerry’s waist. “No, it’s not… that. This room is filled with Paramount Execs. You do want this movie deal, don’t you?”

Jerry’s eyes were shining with hope and ambition and love. “Of course I do, Dean.”

“Then you have to understand that we can’t do this. Not here. Not now.”

Jerry looked crushed, but understanding. Dean was so goddamn sick of being the cause of the crushed look on Jerry’s face. He pulled Jerry towards him again and kissed him on both cheeks. A little European flavor, just in case any of the movie producers in the room were looking to cast a couple of Europeans.

Jerry picked up on the act and kissed Dean exaggeratedly on both cheeks. “So we’re okay. You do want all that stuff just…not now?”

Dean wished he could pick Jerry up in his arms and carry him bridal style out of the room. He would take him upstairs and fulfil every single one of the wishes Jerry had described. “I sure do, Jerry.”

Over the course of their conversation, Jerry had managed to whirl Dean around the room enough times and in a regular enough pattern that the wallflowers had all distributed themselves strategically around the room, ready to pounce the next time there was a break in the music.

On their next pass around, one interloper managed to get between them. Dean seized the opportunity to head out for some much needed fresh air. He stepped off the dance floor and through the open double-doors to the patio outside.

\-----

Thankfully, Dean was left alone with his thoughts for a few minutes. He picked up a champagne flute from a passing tray and sipped as he leant casually against the railing. 

The only sound to be heard outdoors was the birdsong of a couple of black-headed Grosbeaks in the trees nearby. The light breeze carried their music Dean’s way and he found himself smiling. Summer was nearly over and they would soon be flying south for the winter.

Not being particularly fond of heights, Dean tried to ignore the drop to the garden two stories below. Instead, he looked up at the stars. It was a cloudless night and they were magical. 

He had known he was going to hate those Hollywood parties. Too many people; not enough air. The few he’d attended had just made him feel suffocated. The one joy of this particular evening had been dancing with Jerry, and hadn’t that just been exquisite torture. 

His back was to the doors and he heard music wafting over as they were opened again. He recognized the gait and patter of Jerry’s shoes on the porcelain tile and his shoulders relaxed underneath his suit jacket. Jerry was a calming presence. He was lucky that they were going into this together. He couldn’t imagine navigating this sort of thing alone.

Jerry stood next to him in silence, also sipping at champagne.

“Some party, huh?” He ventured.

Dean smiled tightly. Jerry hadn’t known it, but it had been such a close call in there. Jerry was irresistible and just being around him was like a drug to which Dean was in danger of becoming addicted.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Jerry added softly.

“For what?” Dean hadn’t turned, still looking out at the stars, inventing constellations in them. He’d managed to make out one of Frank Sinatra’s trilbys in the cosmos.

“For making you leave. For the way I was acting. For what I was saying. I don’t know – “

“You know, my mother always said it’s not an apology if you don’t know what you’re apologising for.”

“Mine too!” Jerry said excitedly, surprised out of his repentance at the rare personal anecdote from Dean.

Dean turned and smiled at him. Jerry was in dress shoes, the same as his – and they hadn’t had their heels shaved to make him shorter. It often surprised Dean that Jerry was actually taller than him. He hadn’t been when they’d met, and it was moments like these that made him realise he’d really grown up in the last five years.

“And you don’t need to apologise, Jer. That’s not the reason why I left.”

“Oh?” Jerry tentatively covered Dean’s right hand on the railing with his own. 

Dean looked down at Jerry’s hand over his. It really was a beautiful night, warm with a light breeze. They were alone on a quiet patio drinking champagne, with the soft strains of chamber music floating by. The very definition of romantic. If they hadn’t had half of the Paramount executives paying attention to them from inside the ballroom, there was nothing Dean would have liked more than to lean down and kiss those inviting lips.

There was something about Jerry’s face in this moonlight. His hazel eyes were bright and Dean felt something catch in his throat. He turned his hand over underneath Jerry’s to interlink their fingers. Jerry smiled softly at him, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I wasn’t kidding before, Dean.”

“I know, Jer.”

“I do want you to do all those things to me.” Jerry squeezed his hand and Dean couldn’t help himself. He lifted their hands to his lips and kissed Jerry’s knuckles.

Dean’s lips quirked up in a smile, satisfied at the gentle gasp that escaped Jerry.

He turned their hands to let Jerry’s index finger slip inside his mouth. Dean coiled his tongue around it and sucked, before letting it fall out. 

Dean saw Jerry’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat and not for the first time this evening wished that they weren’t at this ridiculous party.

They didn’t need a party. All the company they needed was each other. Everyone else was just a tolerable addition, until they were no longer tolerable, which was usually within five minutes of introductions.

“You know what could happen if this got out?”

“If what got out?” Jerry was playing innocent, but Dean had been present for all the insinuations and allusions he’d made over the evening. 

“Whatever is going on here.” Dean was being vague, but not deliberately so. If truth be told, he didn’t actually know what was going on. Only that it was definitely something the studio executives would _not_ be on board with.

“You mean like how we’re friendly?”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“You mean the way that I kiss you?”

“Potentially.”

“You mean the way I want to get on my knees right now?”

“Definitely.”

“But Dean, all I want is to take you in my mouth. Show you how much I care for you. What’s so wrong about that?” Jerry looked so upset that Dean couldn’t help feeling sorry for him, despite the uncomfortably awkward arousal he’d managed to elicit.

“There’s nothing wrong about that, Jer.” 

Jerry looked at Dean hopefully. “So, can I?”

“Not here. Half a dozen of the biggest names in Hollywood have their eyes glued to the glass over there.”

“Well, that’s their problem.”

“I wish it worked like that, kid.”

Jerry smiled a wistful smile. “One day…”

“One day, what?”

“One day we’ll be able to do that, and no-one will even blink.”

Dean couldn’t help cracking a smile at Jerry’s optimism. “I’m sure you’re right, buddy.”

“One day, you’ll be able to fuck me over a railing; this railing. And no-one will bat an eyelid.”

“Sure, Jerry. And when that day comes, I will.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“You’re a great partner, Dean.”

“You’re a great partner too, Jerry. But I do think it’s about time we headed back inside.”

“I guess you’re right. Can I kiss you?”

“That depends –“ Dean was halfway through his sentence when Jerry’s face lurched towards his, pressing their lips together for a fraction of a second so brief that Dean wondered if he’d imagined it.

“Depends on what, Dean?” Jerry was batting his eyelashes at Dean in a display of mock innocence so blatant, he could instantly see that the kid was going to be a revelation in front of the camera.

“Nothing, Jer.” Dean’s tongue darted out to taste any remnant of Jerry’s lips left on his own. He tasted sugary sweetness and saw Jerry’s eyes dart downwards.

Dean resisted the primal urge to pull Jerry towards him for a far more exploratory kiss. Instead, he extended an arm to escort Jerry back to the party.

Jerry grinned devilishly and took Dean’s arm.

Dean had no idea what Jerry had in store for him for the rest of the evening. He hoped he could hold off any noticeable reaction until they were back in the safety of their hotel room. 

It was something he’d never been warned about regarding the danger of embarking on a double act. No-one had ever warned him about the possibility of falling for your partner.

Dean only hoped he wasn’t about to get his heart broken.


	5. Nightclub, 1950

The show had gone well. The shows always went well. The nights when Dean would leave a stage to silence, or worse - a smattering of sympathetic applause were just a distant memory.

Dean and Jerry are sitting in another booth, this one just occupied by themselves. They’re doing well together, big enough stars that they can reserve a table for themselves alone; comfortable enough that they can pay for the drinks to keep hold of it. Theatres, Nightclubs, Radio, Television, Motion Pictures – it doesn’t seem there exists an entertainment medium they aren’t able to conquer.

Jerry has been drinking whisky with him, and Dean knows it gets him horny. He finds himself scouting the room, looking around at the local talent. It won’t be long before Jerry finds one of the showgirls that takes his fancy, disappears for fifteen minutes and then returns to their table, cheeks a little more flushed than usual, eyes a little brighter. Dean thinks he might as well do the same.

Dean is startled from his musings by Jerry’s stage whisper close to his ear. “Come on, Dean. Let me on your lap.”

Clearly, it’s going to be one of _those_ nights.

“Now, Jer – there’s not room for you under here.”

“Take me hoooome then,” Jerry’s voice has taken on a wheedling edge which is just tip-toeing around the line of annoying Dean.

“Shut up, Jerry.” Dean replies, not unkindly.

Jerry gives him a calculating look and takes another swig of whisky. 

Dean raises his fingers to his temple to try to massage away the oncoming stress headache. He’d wanted a relatively quiet night, down a few drinks, sing a few songs, tell a few gags, return to the hotel room.

He can’t work out Jerry’s pattern - why some evenings he’ll be like this, attached at the hip, coming onto him like a runaway train. All he can be sure of is that once the night is done, Jerry will act like nothing has happened. Dean hasn’t attempted to bring up his behavior per se, but indirectly alludes to it on occasion. Jerry only ever makes some non-committal response about the show itself, before bidding him good night with a friendly, ‘Night, Paul’. More often than not he then turns his body away from Dean and promptly starts snoring. If Dean hears the sheets rustling about fifteen minutes after he’s closed his own eyes, he doesn’t let on. The soft moans that filter through the night air of the draughty hotel room ensure that Dean doesn’t get to sleep for several hours. All he can do is lie there on his back, willing his own physical response away. 

Again, Jerry’s voice shakes him from his thoughts, “Don’t be mad, bubbe. You won’t hafta do any of the work. I’ll prepare myself, I’ve done it before.” Dean tries to derail the train of thought seeking the persons for whom Jerry might have been doing such a thing. The ugly stab of jealousy he feels in his heart is unfair and unwarranted. He’s never had any claim to the kid, and if anything, he’s been the one rejecting Jerry.

But the kid is wearing his defences down. They’ve known each other for five years. If it had been an infantile crush, it would have worn off by now. Jerry still acts like a child on occasion, but Dean gets the feeling that’s never going to truly go away.

Still, he can smell the whisky on Jerry’s breath, and reminds himself for the umpteenth time this evening that Jerry is drunk. Jerry isn’t in a position to want this. Dean has more evidence than he can shake a stick at that Jerry is clearly interested in him. Hell, he could bundle him into his arms, carry him up the stairs, throw him on the bed and have his way with him and Jerry would be so enthusiastic, uninhibited, loud – all the things Dean adores about Jerry, even in his drunk state.

Therein lies the rub. Jerry _is_ intoxicated. Although Dean may have some loose morals, _not taking advantage of drunk youths_ is one of his more firmly held ones. 

While Dean is holding firm to his principles, try telling that to his dick. It’s straining against his trousers, keenly aware of every move Jerry makes; every breath he exhales against his neck. Jerry is driving him crazy.

This is almost worse than the Paramount party. Now, they’re guaranteed an act. Now, Dean is safe and secure in the truth of Jerry’s affections; in that their futures are secured; in that there could be no unfortunate ramifications should they go off together. Dean is running out of excuses, not that he ever wanted to make them in the first place.

He watches Jerry looking up at him, a dazed and adoring expression on his face. His eyes are going unfocussed, and his speech is slurring. Dean tears his eyes away from Jerry’s lips with great difficulty. 

He knows it’s a physiological thing. Jerry’s drunk, so his pupils are dilated. It doesn’t stop the fact that his body is leaning into Jerry’s, happily receiving every touch and caress as Jerry becomes ever more tactile under the influence of the alcohol.

Dean has to put a stop to this before it’s too late.

They don’t have any company. It’s just the two of them, which is how Jerry convinced him to buy him a whisky in the first place.

“Paaaaul?”

“Yeah, Jerm?”

“Why don’t you wanna sleep with me?”

“I do, pal.” The best way to speak to a drunk Jerry is plainly and honestly.

“Why’d ya always call me ‘pal’ when I’m trying to get you to fuck me?”

Dean swallows. Hearing curse words out of Jerry always gets him a little hot under the collar. There’s just something about the vulgar expressions coming out of such a sweet face.

“You are my pal,” Dean evades the question.

“I know that.” Jerry says petulantly, “But can’t you call me something less… platonic?” Jerry chuckles in his ear and the reverberations do nothing to calm him.

“Okay, Jer. How about ‘bubbe’?”

Jerry fixes him with a stare that belies his drunken state. “I think I preferred ‘pal’.”

“Okay, dear – How about…”

Jerry cuts him off, “I like that, ‘dear’. You can call me ‘dear’.”

Dean is surprised, “Dear?”

“Yeah. I’m dear to you. I like that. It’s more than a partner. It’s more than a friend. It’s more like a husband.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say.

“Call me again.” The sweetness in Jerry’s request melts Dean.

“What, dear?” Dean clarifies.

Jerry grins and turns to nuzzle his head into Dean’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he sighs contentedly.

Dean chuckles, bringing his hand up to card through the bristles at the nape of Jerry’s neck. 

“Are you having a nice evening, dear?” Dean’s indulgent smile is audible.

Immediately, Jerry is back into performance mode, even though it’s only the two of them at the table.

“Oh, I certainly am, darling. The food was exquisite and the entertainment was exhilarating, didn’t you think so?”

“I certainly did.” Dean humors Jerry.

“Especially that Itralian fellow – Dreamo, was it? My, he was so handsome.”

“Dean, I think. Although his comic was really the one to watch.”

“Oh yeah?”

Jerry is fishing and Dean knows it, but indulges him anyway. “Oh definitely. Such a pretty boy.”

“Really?” Jerry bats his eyelashes at Dean. His hazel eyes are lined with kohl and his lashes are thick and long with mascara. Dean’s breath catches.

“Oh, yeah. Legs up to _here_. What I wouldn’t do if given half a chance between them.”

“What – what would you do?” 

Dean watches hungrily as Jerry’s tongue darts out to moisten his lips.

“Oh, you know…”

“What? Tell me.” Jerry is breathless. Still intoxicated, but Dean can’t stop his mouth.

“Oh, I’d take the kid apart.”

“Would you?”

“I’d bury myself between his thighs. Nuzzle and lick and bite at them.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’d tease him and get him so hard he was begging without even touching his dick.”

Jerry nods in earnest agreement.

“If he begged me I might pay his dick some attention. I bet he’d have such a pretty cock.”

Dean knows Jerry is proud of his cock. The number of ‘practical jokes’ in which it has been featured of late means Dean could probably draw it from memory. 

“I’d want to taste him. I’d tongue at the slit, where he’d be leaking.”

Dean’s lips twitch at Jerry’s gasp.

“I’d mouth at his cock, get it nice and wet. I’d kiss the sweet spot under the head and feel it jump and pulse. Then I’d wrap my hand around and stroke it. I think he’d be big, but I could still get my hand all the way around him. I think he’d be sensitive. I’d keep licking and stroking him until the kid came all over himself.”

Jerry hums happily in his state of cockeyed arousal, “You know, Dean?” Jerry giggles, “I think he is a virgin.”

Dean hides his surprise but not his immediate spike in arousal. He groans under his breath. “Jesus, Jer.” Dean takes half a second to regroup. “I think you’re right. I think no-one’s ever gone and popped his cherry properly.”

“No-one,” Jerry echoes softly. 

Dean can’t help his own sharp intake of breath at Jerry’s response and his tone turns dark, “I would though.”

Jerry fails to repress a shiver. “You would?”

“Oh boy, I’d lube him up good and proper. He’d be so wet and hot and tight. And I’d take my time with him.”

“What – what would you do?”

“Just what I said. I’d take my time feeling him up, making him feel good. Making him feel better than anyone’s ever made him feel before, including himself. I’d keep one hand on his cock, stroking him the whole time.”

Jerry lets out a sound of incoherent longing that threatens to undo Dean completely.

“I’d start teasing him. Just one finger to start with. Running it around his hole in light circles. Feeling it twitch under my finger, feel it tensing and relaxing. I’d wait for it to beg me inside.”

“It would.” Jerry murmurs.

“You’re damn right it would. But I’d still go so slowly, stretching him, getting him ready for my cock. I’d keep adding fingers, keep stretching him. Three fingers in as deep as they can go. Filling him up, until he was begging for more. Teasing that spot inside that would make him want to come right there in my hand. You know the one I’m talking about?”

Jerry nods, incapable of speech.

Dean continues, “He’ll moan so prettily. Only when he starts begging I’ll take them out, so slowly. He’ll feel my knuckles inside him as they pull, stretching him more as I ease them out. Can you see it now, Jerry? He’d be gaping where my fingers left him, all ready for me.” 

Dean’s large hand is wrapped around his tumbler and he can see Jerry’s eyes fixated on the way his fingers are tapping the glass.

“Can you imagine how good it will feel when I finally sink into him all the way? How hot and tight he’ll be, how he’ll grip me just right. How he’ll pull me inside him. Fuck. I’ll hold my hips back though, I’ll push in so slowly. I won’t hurt him. But I will fuck him so good, he’ll be ruined for anyone else. I’ll fuck him, hard and fast; deep and slow for as long as it takes, for as long as he needs it, until he comes around my cock, and I’ll keep fucking him through his orgasm. He’ll be coming and coming, and then, just when he’s had as much as he can take, as much as he wants, as much as he needs. I’ll come inside him, paint his insides, mark him, fill him, claim him. He’ll be mine.”

Jerry’s eyes are glazed over and a surreptitious glance downwards shows Dean that his hand is pressed against his own erection.

“Dean, wann’you t’fuck me so bad.” Jerry’s voice sounds tired and wrecked and horny. All the exertion, combined with the alcohol and arousal has practically sent the young man to sleep.

“I think we’d better get you home now, dear.” Dean says in a soft voice. Jerry’s face breaks out into a dopey smile at the term of endearment.

They extricate themselves from the booth, Dean practically carrying Jerry out of the establishment and bundling him into a taxi.

The journey back to their hotel is quick.

Once Dean has guided Jerry to the staircase, just outside the eye-line of the receptionist, he lifts him into his arms and carries him up the stairs.

Jerry hums contentedly and nuzzles his face into Dean’s neck.

Dean swallows against the emotion that gets caught in his throat.

Dean unlocks the door, Jerry still cradled in his arms. With one hand, he turns the bed down and deposits Jerry on it.

He succeeds in removing Jerry’s shoes, dress pants, shirt, jacket and tie, and lets him fall asleep in his undershirt, pants and socks.

Back at the nightclub, Dean had let his thoughts run away from him. It was getting harder each day to ignore his feelings for Jerry. Feelings he knew were reciprocated. It couldn’t be healthy for either of them. Each time something nearly happened there had been some absolutely incontrovertible reason why Dean needed to put a stop to it. He didn’t think he had much resistance left in him.

It was high time they addressed the issue. Alone, sober and as adults.


	6. Hotel, 1951

Another night; another city. Martin and Lewis had killed tonight.

Breathless, shattered and exhilarated, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis burst into their dressing room on a high. Jerry’s eyes were bright, his face still bearing that irrepressible grin as he spun around, holding the back of their dressing room chair.

Dean laughed, carefree as he collapsed on the sofa. After undoing his bowtie with deft fingers, he flicked open the top two buttons of his dress shirt.

Looking over at Jerry, he noticed a bottle behind him - champagne sitting in an ice bucket on their dresser. That was one of the nice things about regularly playing these upmarket joints – there was always some undisclosed perk that would make itself known.

Jerry stopped spinning, leaning against the back of the chair. Dean watched as Jerry undid his bowtie, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. He saw a flash of hunger cross Jerry’s face, but it was gone in an instant.

Jerry undid his top button and then adopted an air of nonchalance that was so sudden, Dean knew he was faking it.

Dean knew the words Jerry was going to speak as soon as he opened his mouth. 

“So… did you wanna go out?”

Dean could tell where this was going. It had happened a hundred times before, and would happen a hundred times more if he didn’t do something about it. It always went the same way. Jerry would suggest some night club, slip the maitre d' an exorbitant tip to ensure they got a private booth, and then spend the next several hours driving Dean up the wall.

It wasn’t always sexual. Sometimes Jerry would just want to snuggle against him for the night, or else spend his hours gleefully and deliberately antagonising him. Either way, Dean had had enough of it.

Dean needed to play this safe. Jerry had never made a move when they were alone. Always professional; he either acted disinterested or oblivious to their chemistry. Dean knew there was a chance he would scare easily, so he chose to play dumb.

“Out?” Dean questioned.

“You know?” Jerry started fiddling with his cufflinks, slipping one in and out of its buttonhole. It was a habit he’d had for years, one of which Dean had tried in vain to rid him, back when their shirts were poorly made and the material would stretch and tear so easily.

“Pick up some girls at a club?” Jerry continued, fixing him with his trademark doe-eyed stare. A stare that more often than not ensured he got his way. It might even have worked this time if Dean hadn’t just seen Jerry rejecting at least half a dozen at the stage door five minutes ago.

“Y’know, Jer. I’m sure there are still some out in the lobby – I could send someone to get –“

“No!” Jerry almost shouted. “I mean - I saw them. I just didn’t fancy them.”

“Didn’t fancy them, huh?” Dean smiled up at Jerry.

“No.” Jerry pouted, looking defensive. 

Dean slowly unfolded himself from the couch, stalking towards Jerry. 

“They weren’t what you had in mind?” Dean’s tone was playful.

“That’s right, Dean. They weren’t what I had in mind.”

Dean was taking a chance, but they’d been dancing around this so long he was at the brink of insanity. He moved a hand to Jerry’s lapel, feeling the fabric between his fingers. 

Jerry looked down, watching Dean’s fingers running over the material.

“You want to go to a nightclub? Why? So you can feel me up again?” Dean didn’t stop playing with Jerry’s lapel.

Jerry looked up at Dean suddenly, his eyes like those of a deer caught in the headlights.

Dean pressed further, “I got you all hot and bothered?”

Jerry smoothed his hand over his forehead. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, I think you do.” Dean moved his hand to Jerry’s shoulder.

The hitch in Jerry’s breath was gratifying, and Dean felt immediate relief. He slid his hand up to the back of Jerry’s neck and stroked along the nape.

“I do?” Jerry’s voice was soft as he fell under Dean’s spell.

Dean smiled fondly. This, he’d done a thousand times. Perhaps his greatest talent, talking the willing into bed. He hoped it wouldn’t fail him now.

“Why don’t we go up, get an early night?” he asked, voice smooth as silk.

Jerry caught his eye, a knowing mischief there. 

“But we don’t have to get up early tomorrow. Why would we want to go to sleep now?” Jerry was playing with him. 

“I was thinking of something else.” 

This was usually the moment when his companion would close their eyes in passion, allowing him to steal a kiss. But Jerry was no ordinary companion. A frown crossed his face and Dean paused.

“What’s the matter, Jer?”

Jerry’s arm reached up to clutch at his jacket sleeve.

“You’re not gonna reject me again?”

Dean took a deep breath. “No, kid. I’m not gonna reject you again.”

“All those times…” Jerry’s voice drifted off.

Dean gently took hold of Jerry’s chin in his hand, guiding his head up to meet his eyes.

“I never wanted to reject you.”

Jerry’s forehead started to crumple into a frown of confusion. “Then why didja?”

There had been so many reasons, some more valid than others. “I didn’t want to take advantage of you. You were just a kid.”

“I was already married.” Jerry sounded more bewildered than accusatory.

Dean frowned at that. “You were still just a kid. I didn’t think you knew what you were getting yourself into.” 

Jerry batted his eyelashes at him, “You think I know what I’m getting myself into now?”

Dean grinned impishly, “Kid, you have no idea.”

Jerry’s smile could have out-illuminated the sun itself. The change in him was instantaneous.

“Well, what are you waiting for, old man? Come on!” Jerry practically shouted, snatching the keys and racing out the door, leaving it open.

Swiftly following Jerry out of the room, Dean swiped the bottle of champagne from the dresser. If they were going to be spending some time up in their suite, they would be thankful for the refreshment.

Dean felt a surging giddiness. Watching Jerry walk two steps ahead of him up the stairs, he couldn’t help but croon a few bars.

_Everybody loves somebody sometime  
Everybody falls in love somehow  
Something in your kiss just told me  
My sometime is now_

Jerry unlocked the door and entered as Dean swanned in behind him, still humming his own tune.

Shutting the door softly, Jerry followed Dean across the room to where he was setting down the champagne glasses.

Dean turned to face Jerry and as they locked eyes, it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. The atmosphere was suddenly so claustrophobic, Dean wished there was a window open.

Jerry didn’t look cross or angry, but his expression was dead serious. Taking Dean’s face in his hands, he leaned forward with intent and pressed their lips together.

Dean’s mouth fell slightly open in surprise, and Jerry wasted no time in cheekily darting his tongue out to taste his mouth.

They’d shared countless kisses in their act and in front of other people before, but this was the first time it was just them.

For once, Jerry wasn’t performing. For once, Dean wasn’t pushing him away. Placing the champagne on the table beside them, Dean wrapped his arms around Jerry’s shoulders. Jerry’s arms slid around his waist, pulling him closer with his hands at the small of Dean’s back.

It really was heaven, kissing Jerry. His lips were sinful, and the things he was doing with his tongue were divine. 

Dean reached one of his hands up to stroke the back of Jerry’s head, feeling the shorn bristles of his hair and Jerry moaned into his mouth.

Jerry’s hips pressed forward and Dean’s brain momentarily stuttered as he felt Jerry’s erection pressing against his. He’d been getting hard as they had left the stage; the performing high and rush of the crowd steamrolling through his brain leaving only a heady mix of adrenaline and arousal. The encounter in their dressing room had done nothing to satiate their hunger. 

“Mmm, Dean,” he felt more than heard Jerry moan against his lips.

It was Dean’s turn to let out an unexpected noise of disapproval as Jerry broke the kiss, moving his head slightly back to look him in the eye.

“You sure you’re not going to reject me again?”

“No, kid. Never again.”

Dean lunged forward to capture Jerry’s lips in a soul shattering kiss. 

Jerry was motionless for a breathtaking second before he let out a helpless noise and threw his arms around Dean’s shoulders. 

Dean moved Jerry’s head onto a slight angle to slide their mouths together and felt Jerry melt against him. 

Jerry returned the kiss with just as much enthusiasm, but Dean controlled it. Effortlessly, he lifted Jerry up without breaking the contact of their mouths and walked him over to the bed, the champagne forgotten on the side table.

He threw Jerry onto the bed, and Jerry let out a surprised harrumph at being so unceremoniously tossed. 

Dean followed Jerry down, laying on top of him and ravishing him with kisses. When he felt Jerry’s desperate gasps for air, he rolled them over so he wouldn’t crush him. Dean’s arms were wrapped around Jerry, holding him close and he was kissing every inch of bare skin he could find. Jerry was clawing at his shirt and there were entirely too many layers of clothes between them, but that didn’t matter. 

Dean tried to roll them again and his motion met resistance. Jerry’s legs were entwined with his, and both sets of dress shoes were caught up in the sheets. 

Dean groaned in frustration, sitting up reluctantly to untie his laces and take his socks off.

Jerry was much less dignified, struggling to tug his shoes off without touching the laces and awkwardly lying on his back, trying to shimmy out of his pants.

Dean stood next to the bed, the several barriers to complete nakedness being his white shirt, singlet and small briefs. 

Jerry looked up at him, speechless. This bronzed adonis was standing calmly over him, having reduced him to a person incapable of even the most basic human task of undressing. Even though Dean was still mostly clothed, it was obscene the way his erection was tenting his briefs. Jerry’s gaze tracked lower to his thighs. Jerry could have written entire sonnets about those strong, toned thighs. It was a good thing that his view from the bed cut off at Dean’s knees or the mere sight of his calves would surely have rendered him incoherent.

Jerry was still struggling to remove his dress trousers over his shoes, having abandoned his attempts to kick them off in the first place. Dean chuckled at him.

“Let me help you there.”

Jerry laid back, beaming up at him. His open, happy face was one Dean could stand to wake up next to for the rest of his natural life.

Dean pulled the legs of Jerry’s trousers back up over his shoes, untying the laces and taking off his socks. He then removed Jerry’s trousers easily, laying them tidily over the back of a chair. When he returned to the bed, he saw Jerry had gotten rid of his jacket and tie and was fumbling with his shirt cuffs.

Dean unbuttoned his own as he sat down close to Jerry. Jerry was cross legged on the bed, his shirt tails protecting his modesty. Discarding his own shirt, Dean knelt in front of him and reached his hand up behind Jerry’s head to draw him into a kiss. As Jerry reached both arms out to wrap around him, Dean gently manoeuvred him backwards, covering Jerry’s body with his own.

Dean was taking most of his own weight on his left elbow, while caressing Jerry’s face with his right hand. Jerry’s body was the perfect length. He was able to kiss him soundly while subtly grinding against the hardness of Jerry’s generous erection.

Jerry’s hips were making short, aborted thrusts against him, each one accompanied by the most delicious, helpless noise.

Dean lifted his head to gaze once again at his partner. His zany, genius, impossible partner. He had wanted this for so long and had to take a moment to appreciate the man in his arms. He didn’t want to rush this.

Jerry’s soft lips were parted. Dean could feel a gentle gust of breath each time he exhaled. Holding Jerry’s face still with his hand, he ran his thumb slowly over his mouth. Dean dragged his thumb gently over Jerry’s full lower lip, pulling it down slowly and watching it spring back into place.

Jerry’s eyes were closed in pleasure, and Dean couldn’t help leaning forward to kiss his eyelids.

Dean watched as Jerry’s eyes fluttered open. His breath hitched as the light caught those beautiful, expressive hazel eyes. Those eyes that were so filled with love that Dean sometimes found it hard to meet them.

Dean closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.

He felt a knock to his jaw. Jerry had chucked him softly on the chin. “You still in there, bubbe?”

Dean leaned down and kissed the centre of Jerry’s forehead.

He kissed Jerry on the nose and both cheeks, before licking a stripe up the side of his face from his chin to his ear. 

Jerry squirmed, but Dean could feel his cock twitch against his own. “You like that?”

“Yeah.” Jerry answered somewhat self-consciously.

“You want me to do that anywhere else?”

Jerry’s mouth opened, slack, and all of a sudden he was lost for words.

“It’s alright pally, I’ll look after you. We won’t do anything you’re not ready for.” 

Jerry might have claimed extensive experience, but Dean had an inkling that he hadn’t been in this particular situation before. One where he had an attentive partner and no need to rush. One where he could take everything at his own pace.

“You really want to – to do that?” Jerry’s eyes opened wider in astonishment. It was as if no-one had considered his pleasure above their own before. His fingers clutched at the sides of Dean’s singlet.

Dean trailed his hand up Jerry’s thigh, brushing over his cock, still contained in his briefs. He felt Jerry’s body shiver beneath him. Dean had never wanted anything more in his life.

“Oh yes.” Dean kissed Jerry again, unable to get enough of his mouth. 

Dean’s lips tingled with each brush of Jerry’s. He couldn’t stop kissing him, running his hand over Jerry’s hip again and again in circles ever inching closer to his cock.

Jerry broke the kiss, panting. “I think this might be over very quickly if you try something like that, Dean.” 

Dean chuckled kindly, “For me as well, kid.”

Jerry pulled at Dean’s singlet, encouraging him closer to recapture his lips in a kiss.

Jerry’s lips were so full. Dean was captivated by how they felt under his lips and tongue, how they yielded to him. He bit the lower one gently, feeling it give under his teeth. Jerry’s moans were affecting him strongly, bringing him to full hardness.

Dean had to break for air, and moved his head back a little to see Jerry properly. Jerry’s hair was satisfyingly mussed for such a short cut. His eyes were wild, the pupils expanded so far there was only a sliver of iris visible. His lips were red and slightly swollen, parted to make way for his heavy breaths. 

Dean had never seen a sight more enticing.

“God, you're lovely,” he mused aloud, shaking his head gently in wonder.

Jerry blushed and cast his eyes downwards in an unexpected display of shyness. Dean moved his hand to Jerry’s chin, lifting it so he could bestow a soft kiss on those gorgeous, full lips. 

Pulling back again, Dean saw Jerry’s face cracking a smile so full of relaxed joy that his heart sang. Dean’s hand crept up to the buttons of Jerry’s shirt. He played with the top one, flicking it in and out of the buttonhole.

“Is this okay?”

“Uh huh.” Jerry’s breathless response surprised Dean. 

Dean’s fingers suddenly trembled on the button. He had to pull himself together or this could end up being a train wreck.

He focussed intently, undoing the buttons of Jerry’s shirt one by one. It was a lot slower going than when he’d undone his own a short time ago. Dean was only just able to restrain himself from ripping off the shirt in frustration. 

He felt Jerry’s hand cover his after he finished the last button. Jerry pulled his hand up to his face to kiss it. He opened his palm and Jerry turned his face into it. He stroked Jerry’s face, fingers running along under his jawline. 

Dean helped Jerry sit up slightly to be able to remove his shirt. After the shirt was gone, Jerry practically tore off his singlet, throwing it unceremoniously at the chair on which Dean had placed his carefully folded trousers.

Jerry flashed him a goofy grin and tackled him to the bed. Suddenly Dean was gazing up at him. Jerry’s eyes were bright and had that manic look in them, the look that indicated he might do just about anything. 

At least they were finally in a place where that would be okay. 

Dean placed his hands at Jerry’s waist. He could nearly wrap them around it. He rubbed his thumbs against the divots above his hip bones and Jerry’s eyes closed in pleasure. 

Dean watched as Jerry slowly blinked his eyes open. He couldn’t work out quite what he’d done to deserve this passionate, intelligent, kind, warm being in his arms. He did know that he couldn’t see a life for himself without Jerry in it.

Jerry leaned forward over him and Dean moved his hands to his chest, propping Jerry up. Jerry craned his head forward to try to reach Dean.

Dean giggled, “What are you after there, boy?”

“I want –“ Jerry struggled against him, trying to use his entire body weight to get closer to Dean. Dean wasn’t budging, just holding Jerry in midair above him. 

“Let me down, Dean. I just wanna be close to you.” Jerry’s pout could have warmed the coldest heart, and Dean’s heart was anything but cold. He slowly lowered Jerry so they were chest to chest and wrapped his arms around him.

Jerry started peppering his face with kisses, mapping it out entirely with his lips. He ran his lips over every part of Dean he could reach, using them as a substitute for sight. 

It was driving Dean wild.

As much as Dean wanted to taste every inch of Jerry, the thought of Jerry’s mouth around him was one that had kept him up many nights, trying and failing to get to sleep. On those nights, a cold shower and a six ounce glass of bourbon was the only thing to succeed in allowing him to succumb to sleep.

He felt Jerry’s hands tugging at his singlet, still tucked into his shorts. Jerry rolled off him for a moment so he could strip. His singlet, shorts and underpants joined the assortment of clothes haphazardly arranged on the chair. Jerry shucked his own underwear, his aim wildly missing its target, landing them in the ice-bucket with the champagne.

Suddenly Jerry’s hands were everywhere. Smoothing over his chest, skating up his flanks, his thumb brushed a nipple and Dean sucked in an unexpected breath.

“You like that, bubbe?”

“M’hmm,” Dean stilled Jerry’s movements with his hands. He wasn’t going to let on that he was nervous, but Jerry’s ministrations were overwhelming. “Slow down, Jer.”

Jerry buried his face in Dean’s neck, inhaling. It was something Dean noticed he did quite often to calm himself. He felt the familiar press of lips to the sensitive skin behind his ear and let out a groan. The relief of being able to groan at that exquisite sensation after years of having to suppress it was indescribable. So often, Jerry would stroke, or kiss, or even exhale against it, and every time Dean would have to keep quiet, curb his reaction. He suspected that on some level Jerry had known this. 

Dean stroked a hand down Jerry’s back, following the curve of his spine down to his generous ass. He gave it a squeeze and felt the air rush past his neck as Jerry huffed out a laugh.

He traversed his other hand down, grasping Jerry’s ass with both hands, and pulling him closer. Their cocks slid together, and Dean felt the ripple of Jerry’s pectoral and abdominal muscles contracting against him. 

Jerry moaned into his neck, and pushed back against his hands, sliding his cock back away from Dean’s. Dean pulled him closer again and they settled into a slow, sensual rhythm.

Jerry’s head moved back away from Dean’s as he lengthened his spine, pressing his hands into the bed either side of Dean’s chest and pushing himself up to get more leverage. Dean looked down between their bodies to see their cocks sliding together and let out a bone-deep groan.

He felt Jerry shudder against him, and looked up at his face to see his eyes glued to the place where they were connected. 

Dean saw Jerry’s eyes trailing up his body to lock with his own, arresting his gaze. Dean watched in slow motion as Jerry’s face moved towards him, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. 

Dean lifted a hand to settle at the base of Jerry’s skull, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. The other hand he wrapped around Jerry’s waist, holding him close in a hug.

“Dean?” Jerry asked, his voice quiet.

“What is it, Jer?”

“I don’t think I’m going to last very long, boy. Every time I see your face, I nearly lose it.”

“I know what you mean.” Dean sighed understandingly and held Jerry tighter. “I’ve got an idea, Jer.”

“Hmm?”

“Roll over.” 

Jerry didn’t hesitate to comply and that sent a bolt of lust right down Dean’s spine. Jerry was constantly pushing limits out in the real world, but here it seemed he belonged completely to Dean.

Jerry settled on his side, one arm behind him, clutching at Dean’s hip for reassurance. Dean slid his arm to pillow under Jerry’s head and felt Jerry smiling contentedly against his bicep. He flexed and felt the shudder of a giggle pass through Jerry.

“You sure are strong, boy.”

“You have no idea.” Dean replied. The sheer moral fortitude he was displaying at that moment by not succumbing to the urge to finish himself off against Jerry’s delicious ass was practically deific.

He brought his hand up to Jerry’s mouth. “Can you lick it? Get it wet for me?”

The enthusiasm with which Jerry took to that task was astounding. In seconds, Dean kissed the back of his head softly with a quiet, “That’s enough.”

He brought his hand down to wrap around Jerry’s cock. He heard the strangled sound that Jerry made, and watched as his head tilted forwards. Dean knew Jerry wouldn’t be able to resist seeing his hand wrapped his cock. It might have been a dirty trick, but they really weren’t going to last long.

Dean used the lubrication provided by Jerry’s mouth, along with his precome to slide his hand easily up and down Jerry’s length. It surprised him how similar it felt to masturbation. 

He could feel Jerry’s body shuddering against him and hear the soft moans he was letting out with each twist Dean made around the head. The muscle memory may have been kicking in with the actions of his hand, but it didn’t escape Dean’s notice that it was Jerry’s cock that his hand was wrapped around. It was Jerry who he was driving to climax. Dean was panting into the nape of Jerry’s neck. Unwittingly, each hot puff of air was driving Jerry further onwards towards his completion.

Dean’s cock was pressed between their bodies, right up against Jerry’s ass. It was full and firm and round. Nothing like what the rest of him would suggest. Dean pressed forwards, a tacit promise of things to come and Jerry shuddered against him.

“You like that?” Dean asked.

“Hnng,” Jerry replied eloquently.

“_Oh_ God, Jerry!” Dean exclaimed. Jerry had arched his back, grinding his ass against Dean’s cock, sliding it along the crease and Dean nearly came then and there.

Dean surged up against Jerry’s body, craning his head around his neck to bite at his earlobe.

“I’ve had another idea. You interested?” Dean asked, again teasing his cock against Jerry.

Jerry was audibly breathless, “Yeah, I am.”

Dean slowed his right hand on Jerry’s cock to a torturous pace. “Good boy. Okay, hold on one second.”

Dean jumped off the bed to the dresser and got out a jar of lubricant. Spit wasn’t the best for this sort of thing, and he didn’t want either of them to be raw in the morning. He seized the opportunity to take a good look back at Jerry. He was laid out against the sheets watching Dean, his cock standing proud as he gently batted it from side to side with his hands, making Dean laugh. 

Dean threw the jar down next to him and jumped on the bed, resuming his position pressed up against Jer’s ass. He gave into the temptation to roll his hips a couple of times against Jerry before unscrewing the jar and scooping some of the contents into his hand. He quickly stroked Jerry once, coating him, and then did the same to himself, before sliding his hand between Jerry’s legs.

As his palm caressed Jerry’s inner thigh, Dean couldn’t help taking a moment. 

Dean pressed his forehead to the back of Jerry’s head as his fingers teased between Jerry’s legs. Jerry was so smooth and soft, where Dean knew his hand would be rough to the touch. He felt Jerry shivering in his arms and pressed a kiss into his hair. 

Jerry was perfection, and that he was allowing Dean to do this - Dean swallowed against the emotion caught in his throat. 

Jerry moaned as Dean dragged his hand back through his legs. Although Dean’s hand mourned the loss of them, he bit his lip, knowing that soon all of that wetness, warmth and softness was to be around his cock.

Jerry’s thighs were trembling as Dean removed his fingers.

He looked down to line up his cock between them and his heart almost stopped. The backs of Jerry’s thighs were glistening and flushed a dark pink from all the attention. Dean nudged them together, lined up and pushed forward.

The first thrust was pure bliss. Those silken thighs gripped him instinctively, tighter than a fist, and with a wiry strength that belied Jerry’s lean form.

Dean reached around to grab hold of Jerry’s cock and found that position already taken by Jerry’s own hand. He grabbed hold of the base of his own cock to squeeze gently. 

“One day, Jer. I’m going to fuck you _here_.” On that last word, Dean slid his cock out from between Jerry’s thighs and up, pausing with the tip just outside Jerry’s entrance. He was applying pressure but with no threat of pushing in.

Jerry shuddered again. “Do it.”

“Not tonight.” Dean’s tone was firm although he desperately wanted to. Jerry was pushing back against him. But there would be days and weeks and years of this to come. He was so close, and knew the chances of him being able to deliver a decent and enduring performance were very slim. Sure, Jerry had said he had had experiences, but he’d never had Dean, and Dean was not going to be guilty of giving any less than his best.

Dean slid his cock up against Jerry’s ass one last time. The sensations on the underside of his head were exquisite. 

He repositioned between Jerry’s thighs and started thrusting. Reaching his arm around Jerry, he batted his hand away, taking hold of his length and stroking him in counterpoint to his thrusts. 

His right hand was on autopilot, lying front to back with Jerry. It was a simple matter of the familiar fast descent and squeeze, slow pull and drag, swiping his thumb over the tip to collect the moisture gathered there and aid the return journey to the base.

Jerry’s moans were getting to him. The kid was usually loud, but this was something else. Each stroke seemed to wring a distinct cry from him, and every time he thrust between Jerry’s thighs there was a bone-deep groan that came from the body against him.

Dean was getting close. His mouth found Jerry’s shoulder and he just had to kiss it. The slim joint rolled against his mouth and he bit down on what little meat was on it. Jerry’s hips stuttered and his thighs started to shake, causing what little mental faculty Dean possessed to utterly desert him.

“Oh, Dean.” Jerry’s voice was higher. His moans had given way to breathy gasps. Dean could feel them through his chest.

Dean kept his hand near the head of Jerry’s cock, speeding up his strokes and squeezing harder, giving it a little twist at the end, the way he usually did to himself.

Jerry’s legs were still shaking, and Dean couldn’t stand it anymore. With a rumbling roar, he was coming between Jerry’s thighs, painting them with white ropes of come while Jerry spurted through his open fist, soiling the sheets and his own front, from stomach to chin.

Catching their breath, they both rolled on their backs. Dean immediately insinuated an arm underneath Jerry’s head, and Jerry curled in to cuddle up against Dean’s chest.

His hand dropped down to Dean’s cock, picking it up curiously and moving it back and forth.

“Do you not want to have a rest, kid?”

“I’ve not held it before.”

“It’s not terribly worth holding right now, pally.”

Jerry bent his body in half, leaning his head down and kissing the tip.

“You’re always worth holding, Dean.”

Dean hauled Jerry up by his armpits to lie alongside him and Jerry’s face met his, lips already puckered, waiting for a kiss.

“Do you know something, Dean?”

“What is that, Jer?”

“Your cock is exactly the same color as your lips.” Jerry let out a tremendous cackle at that, almost deafening Dean. Dean smiled at him indulgently. 

“Is that so?” he said, his tone playful and amused.

“Yeah.”

They enjoyed a couple of moments of silence, but Jerry had that bouncing air that indicated he was desperate to say something.

“What is it, kid?”

“I really liked this, tonight.”

“Me too, pal.”

“And I really like you as well.”

“I really like you, Jerry.”

“Would it be – could we - ?”

“What is it? What are you trying to say?” Dean rubbed what he hoped to be a comforting circle on Jerry’s upper back.

“Do you wanna go steady?”

“You mean not see other girls?”

“Yeah, like you can see your wife, but not, you know, other girls.”

To be honest, given Jerry’s sex drive, Dean was unsure it was a promise he’d be physically able to keep, but he felt like humoring him. Besides, it was the sentiment of the offer that mattered.

“Sure, Jerry.” Dean paused. “Now Jerry…”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Do you mind if we put our heads down and have a little sleep now?”

“That sounds real nice.”

“Good.” Dean shut his eyes and felt Jerry rise up, pulling the sheet at their feet up over them. Jerry settled against him and he could feel the tension drain out of the body at his side.

Jerry’s cheek was pressed against his pectoral muscle, and he could feel it moving as he breathed. 

A few moments later he heard a voice, quiet – almost inaudible. Almost like the person talking hadn’t wanted to be heard.

“I love you, Dean.”

Dean lifted his arm from Jerry’s back, moving it up to place his hand over the back of his head. He stroked once, then settled his fingers amongst the thick, coarse hair.

“I love you too, Jerry.”

**Author's Note:**

> I own only a guitar and pen; and the guitar is borrowed.
> 
> These are fictional depictions of real people. Please don't sue me.


End file.
